Saturday morning arrived, and I dedicated the entire span to cleaning my house. Not that it was filthy or anything, but in the solitude of my own company, I managed to find dust bunnies I had previously missed. After several hours of deep cleaning, every surface and corner sparkled as if Mary Poppins could walk in with her white glove and nod approvingly. With a sense of accomplishment, I rewarded myself with a relaxing soak in the tub before showering to wash my hair.
Putting on my new dress that fit perfectly. I opted for white panties with lace and a new white bra with several extra straps to give it a more burlesque feel.
My makeup was light and natural, applying a touch of tinted moisturizer, a light dusting of powder, and a subtle rose-colored eyeshadow. Satisfied with my appearance, I delved into my book, wholly engrossed in the world of witches and demons, until the doorbell rang.
Opening the door, I was greeted by the sight of Ben standing there, holding two paper grocery bags and a cast iron skillet. I offered to help him with the bags, which he declined; he then walked into my house with an air of familiarity as if he had been there many times before. As he made his way to the kitchen, he instructed me to settle onto one of the bar stools at the center island so we could chat while he cooked.
Unpacking the bags, he unveiled a mouthwatering T-bone steak, fresh broccoli, and two delectable twice-baked potatoes from the deli. While preheating the oven for the potatoes and heating the skillet, he revealed that the skillet held sentimental value to him, being one of the few possessions he had taken from his childhood home when he ventured out on his own.
As he dove into the topic of skillets and the art of seasoning them, his eyes sparkled with passion. His animated storytelling drew me in ultimately, and I found myself utterly engrossed in his words.
While he effortlessly navigated my kitchen, sharing his culinary wisdom and techniques, I couldn't help but notice his tendency to rearrange items without returning them to their original place. Instead, he put them where he first went to look for them.
I admired his artful steak slicing, delicately dividing the filet portion into bite-sized pieces while leaving the remainder intact. With both plates thoughtfully arranged, he carried them gracefully to my cozy dining room table, which I had adorned with a tablecloth and the warm glow of a couple of flickering candles. The ambiance was set for a delightful and intimate dining experience.
With a mischievous glint, Ben called me over to the table, where my missing place setting raised confusion. But before I could voice my concern, he beckoned me to sit beside him, with the chair facing him instead of the table. A playful smirk played on his lips.
Curiosity piqued, I took my seat, my gaze locked on him. And then, to my astonishment, he used his fork to expertly scoop up a succulent piece of steak from my plate and held it up to my lips. It was an intimacy I had never experienced. As I savored the morsel, he requested that I place my hands on the chair under me, hinting at the level of control he desired to exert over the evening's proceedings.
Our conversation flowed effortlessly, the shared bites from his fork adding a unique flavor to our interaction. With each morsel he fed me, a sense of surrender and trust began to grow. The intimate act of being nourished by him held an unexpected allure.
But just as I was about to savor the next bite he offered, he abruptly shifted the tone of our conversation. His asked me about my kinkiest sexual experience caught me entirely off guard, leaving me momentarily speechless. I coughed and struggled to compose myself, racing to find an appropriate response. Sensing my surprise, he gently took the napkin from my lap, delicately wiping my mouth.
He repeated his question, his gaze penetrating mine with curiosity and anticipation. My mind raced, searching for a tantalizing story to share, but I couldn't conjure up anything genuinely captivating. My sexual encounters had been rather mundane and unremarkable. High school brought a disastrous relationship, filled with fumbling attempts and awkward moments. And there was that one encounter with a forgettable partner who left me unsatisfied and yearning for more.
If I were to recount my sexual history, it would be a tale of missed opportunities and unfulfilled desires. The number of orgasms I could recall could be counted on a single hand, with one regrettable incident involving a married coworker at a conference fueled by alcohol. It was a fleeting encounter that ended abruptly, leaving no room for further exploration. My experiences lacked the passion and intensity to make for a thrilling story, and I grappled for an answer that would meet his expectations.
Still wearing his charming smile, Ben responded, "Good, no bad habits to break you of." His words puzzled me, but I chose to dismiss them as an attempt at humor. I instinctively rose from my seat, intending to clear and wash the plates in the kitchen. However, before I could take a step, he interrupted me abruptly.
He stood up and gently but firmly bent me over swiftly. The unexpected act sent a surge of electricity through my body, surprising and arousing me. His hand met my rear with three quick spanks, leaving me momentarily immobilized, my mind spinning with the shock of it.
His tone turned commanding as he reminded me that I hadn't received permission to stand or release my hands from their position. Taken aback, I froze as he swiftly stood up and took the plates from the table. The unexpected events left me momentarily stunned, unsure how to react or his intentions.
Feeling utterly bewildered, I return to the bar stool and observe him from the kitchen. Once again, he instructs me to sit on my hands, emphasizing that if I need to use my hands for anything, he will inform me. Eager to please him but unsure how to proceed, I gaze at him, my mind racing.
Unexpectedly, he walked around the kitchen island towards me, his presence captivating my attention. With a gentle touch, he brushes my hair aside, exposing the nape of my neck, and plants a soft, electrifying kiss that sends shivers cascading through my body. The intimate gesture catches me off guard, and I find myself momentarily lost in confusion and desire. Sensing my compliance, he takes hold of my hands and carefully guides them back beneath me, ensuring they remain in place.
In a firm yet seductive tone, he warns me that failing to comply with his instruction will result in another spanking, this time with my hands tied.
He then uses his hands and opens my legs as far as they will go. He states if I desire him, my legs should always be open and ready for his touch. If I close my legs, I'm letting him know I want to be punished.
As I sit there, anticipation and a tinge of rebelliousness fill me. With my eyes closed, I indulge in the tempting thoughts of disobedience, feeling the heat rising within me. Sensing my inner struggle, Ben presses his lips against my neck again, his hands gliding down my arms and delicately tracing along my legs. His touch ignites something inside of me that I wasn't aware of. I find myself torn between the thrill of surrendering to his dominance and the uncharted territories of my desires.
He circles the kitchen island, fixing his intense gaze upon me with piercing blue eyes. It's as if he can see into my desires, asserting his dominance over my thoughts and awakening a primal connection. Realizing that he wants to claim my mind and body fills me with excitement and terror. My cheeks flush with embarrassment and arousal, and I obediently lower my gaze, aware that my exposed, spread legs grant him an unobstructed view of my most intimate self.
As he tidies up the kitchen, my heart races as the dampness between my thighs intensify, a potent reminder of the overwhelming arousal coursing through my body. With a slight adjustment of my dress, I attempt to conceal the telltale signs of my desire, hoping to maintain some semblance of composure. I can't help but feel like a metaphorical billboard hovers above me, broadcasting my heightened longing to anyone who might catch a glimpse.
Suddenly, his movements blur in my peripheral vision, catching me off guard. Before I can fully comprehend what is happening, I feel the sensation of something restraining my hands behind my back. Startled, I gasped, my body tensing in surprise. The next moment, he firmly grips my neck, guiding me to bend over the couch. His commanding tone echoes through the room, reminding me of his earlier instruction and the consequences promised if I failed to comply. The memory floods back, and I nod in silent acknowledgment, my breath catching in my throat.
My body trembles with anticipation and nervousness as he tightens his grip on my neck, demanding a more specific response. With a flush of adrenaline heating my cheeks, I struggle to find my voice. "Yes," I manage to utter, my voice barely above a whisper. His dominance over me, both physical and verbal, electrifies the air, leaving me breathless and eager to please.
"Yes, Sir," I finally respond, my words carrying a newfound sense of submission. The realization that I am willingly surrendering control and embracing my desires intensifies my throbbing ache. It is a sensation I have never experienced—a potent mix of attraction, excitement, and a hint of vulnerability.
"Good girl. Now let's proceed with this so we can continue our evening." His words are dripping with unwavering determination. With deliberate motions, he lifts the back of my dress, exposing the delicate fabric of my white panties, which stand as the sole barrier between us. Anticipation surges through me, sending shivers down my spine as he gradually pulls my panties down to my knees, leaving my bare bottom vulnerable to his touch. The sound of his unbuckled belt fills the room, intensifying my senses, while he gently caresses my exposed skin, setting the stage for what is to come.
SMACK
The belt whooshes through the air, colliding with me in a torrent of force that unleashes pain rippling through my body. The excruciating intensity catches me off guard, as the initial encounter consisted of only three swift smacks from his hand, which had seemed comparatively mild. However, as the leather bites into my flesh, I can't help but unleash a desperate scream, pleading for him to cease the punishment. "I'm sorry! I'll do anything, I promise."
Amidst my whimpering, a second blow lands, striking agonizingly close to the first, causing the pain to reverberate and amplify. I'm left sprawled over the back of the couch in the intimate confines of my modest living room, trapped within a torturous limbo, dreading the next impending strike that remains impervious to my pleas. His hand glides over my pulsating backside, the touch an unsettling mixture of pain and caress, before gradually tracing the contours of my exposed lips with deliberate intent.
Tears cascade down my face as I vigorously shake my head, adamantly rejecting any notion of pleasure amidst the overwhelming pain inflicted by the merciless third strike of the belt. Muffling my screams into the softness of a nearby pillow, I seek solace, yet my anguish becomes further entangled as he ventures into intimate territory. With only a single finger teasingly breaching my depths, an unforeseen wave of pleasure crashes upon me, eliciting a gasp that blends both sensations of pain and ecstasy. Instinctively, my body wriggles, an instinctive yearning for deeper exploration, an insatiable craving for more.
Then, he gives me a choice, his voice brimming with authority. Option one: he'll stop the torment, gather his stuff, and leave for the night. Option two: I must accept and show gratitude for three more spanks. He promises to pleasure me with his fingers until I scream out his name. It's a tough call to make, with the stinging pain in my backside contrasting against the unexpected arousal pulsating within me. After a brief pause, I gather my courage and respond.
"Please, spank me again."
Ah…
"Please... spank me again, Sir." The words escape my lips, and in an instant, the belt whistles through the air, striking with a greater force than all the previous blows combined. I let out a piercing scream into the pillow, biting down to stifle any sound that might raise suspicions among the neighbors.
"What do you say?"
"Thank you, Sir."
The ordeal was repeated twice, each strike growing in intensity, causing my burning buttocks to ignite further. Ben's aim was precise, repeatedly targeting the same tender area, leaving me writhing in anguish.
As tears continued to stream down my face, I remained nestled in the comforting embrace of the pillow. Suddenly, I felt Ben’s strong arms lifting me, repositioning me to face the front of the couch, where the TV and fireplace stood. With him seated on the sofa, he drapes me over his lap. My burning bottom was still exposed and elevated, while my arms remained bound by some unknown object. The panties, a mere reminder of modesty, clung to my knees, leaving me feeling utterly exposed and vulnerable.
I sense his hand maneuvering between my trembling legs and obediently spread them as wide as the restrictive barrier of the panties allows. With a swift motion, he plunges a finger deep inside me, eliciting a gasp that escapes my lips, overwhelmed by the incredible pleasure it brings. Gradually, he sets a rhythm, sliding his finger in and out, building momentum with each movement. Then, he adds another finger or a knuckle, expertly teasing and rubbing my clit. The sensation is electrifying, causing me to become impossibly wet, a state of arousal I believed to be only fictionalized in the pages of romance novels. It's as if I'm on the brink of becoming a mere vessel for desire, consumed by the relentless waves of pleasure crashing over me.
With two fingers delving in and out of me, their speed escalating rapidly, I can't help but squirm, desperate to bring myself closer to his tantalizing touch. Suddenly, a third finger joins the others, pushing me to the limits of what my body is accustomed to. The tightness of that intimate space is stretched to its utmost, surpassing any sensation I've felt in years, if ever before.
A primal sensation brews deep within my core, a potent energy threatening to consume me entirely, building with an intensity hinting at an imminent explosion. And then, it happens—an orgasm crashes over me like an unstoppable tide, unleashing wave upon wave of exquisite pleasure that radiates from the depths of my being. Despite the overwhelming ecstasy coursing through my body, he persists, relentlessly moving his fingers in and out, a clear message that he won't cease until I scream his name in surrender.
Another orgasm crashes into me, causing me to convulse and writhe uncontrollably, a desperate attempt to escape the overwhelming sensations that threaten to engulf me. The throbbing ache in my buttocks, a constant reminder of the belt's punishment, and the explosive waves of pleasure coursing through my body push me to my limits. I can't endure anymore, and I scream his name with such enthusiasm that my voice becomes hoarse, a testament to the intensity of my release and surrender.
As he withdraws his fingers, a bittersweet surge of pleasure washes over me, accompanied by an unexpected welling of tears. Emotions swirl within me, a tumultuous mix that finds no outlet other than these silent droplets.
Gradually, he unties my hands, freeing them from their confining restraint. He guides me, repositioning my body so I'm seated in his lap, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck for support. I sniffle, attempting to regain some semblance of control over my overwhelmed and trembling body.
He tenderly rubs my back, his touch a soothing balm to my frazzled nerves while softly whispering words that carry an elusive meaning. Gradually, as I gather myself and regain a semblance of composure, he gently eases me away from his embrace, seeking to gauge my well-being. Unsure of articulating my feelings, I offer a subtle nod, finding solace in returning to the shelter of his arms.
In a gentle tone, he reassures me that he doesn't desire to punish me further. As long as I adhere to his instructions, we can focus on the pleasurable aspects of our interactions, ensuring a more positive experience moving forward.
He pulls me away once more, his eyes locked with mine as he asks if I would enjoy surrendering to his commands, allowing him complete control over me. I look down, lost in thoughts of the mind-blowing experiences I've just encountered. My body has never experienced such intense sensations before, and the echoes of those multiple orgasms still reverberate. The mere recollection of how good it felt causes a fresh wave of arousal, my body responding with growing wetness between my thighs.
"Are you going to hurt me?" I manage to whisper, my voice tinged with both curiosity and apprehension.
He meets my gaze; his expression is severe yet gentle. "Yes, there may be times when I need to punish you, which will cause some pain. But, like tonight, you will be rewarded for handling the punishment well. Punishments will be infrequent if you listen to me and remember to follow my rules."
I tilt my head slightly, my curiosity piqued. "Rules?" I inquired, eager to understand what was expected of me.
A warm smile graces his lips as he pulls me back into the comfort of his chest. "Yes, rules," he affirms. He explains that one of the rules is how I should sit—keeping my legs open wide, signaling that I am ready for him. Closing my legs indicates I do not want him or that I desire to be punished. Furthermore, he instructs me to keep my hands behind my back or under my legs. He assures me that he will always provide anything I need, and leaving my hands unrestrained suggests that I don't need him to take care of me.
As his words sank in, uncertainty and a growing sense of submission washed over me.
"So, what do you think? Do you want to call me Sir and make me happy?" he asks, awaiting my response. I nod in agreement but realize he can't see my gesture while I'm nestled against his neck. With a gentle shift, I pull back slightly so he can see my face, and I respond, "Yes, Sir."
His smile spreads as he embraces me tightly, expressing his joy and satisfaction. He assures me that I have made him immensely happy and affirms his belief that I am the right girl for him.
He scoops me up effortlessly, cradling me in his arms as he carries me into the bedroom. With a deliberate motion, he pulls back the sheets and blanket. He sets me down gently, ensuring I am positioned on my belly, my vulnerable backside exposed.
Leaving momentarily, he returns with a bottle of lotion in hand. He applies the cream to my tender skin with the utmost care, his touch gentle yet tinged with a hint of possessiveness. I can feel the beginnings of a raised welt, evidence of the punishment endured earlier.
"I'm going to leave you here," he states firmly, his voice commanding. "Sleep on your stomach. Do not remove your underwear. I like them right where they are."
As I hear him move about in the living room, a muffled sound suggests he's rummaging through my purse.
Returning to the room, he informs me of his intention to take my house key to have a duplicate made. He asks if I have a problem with that, and I shake my head, voicing no objections. "No, Sr," I reply.
"Good," he acknowledges, his tone satisfied. "I'll stop by tomorrow to see how you're doing. But for now, I'll use the key to lock the door behind me. Sleep tight."
The details of his departure and my subsequent slumber remain hazy in my memory. I don't recall drifting off to sleep, nor do I remember hearing him leave. Yet, it is the most peaceful and restful sleep I have ever experienced.
